


An Angel’s Best Friend

by WeAreStarStuff



Series: Conquest of Spaces (Sci-Fi AU) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), M/M, Mystery, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, sequel fic, weirdly erotic applications of makeup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreStarStuff/pseuds/WeAreStarStuff
Summary: My submission for the mystery AU event and sequel to “Who leaves paradise”.After getting into a dangerous firefight, the Bentley Crew dock on an exclusive resort world to recover. Crowley quickly comes up with a con to get the money for their repairs. Aziraphale takes to his new life of crime a little too well. But they soon realize there's more than glitz and glitter going on here.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Conquest of Spaces (Sci-Fi AU) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860088
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: GO-Events Good Omens Mystery AU Event Works





	An Angel’s Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [kaiannanthi](https://kaiannanthi.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for the beta

Aziraphale was in his favourite place in the whole known systems. 

He was floating in the pool in his exclusive garden. No sound carried but the chirping of rare birds and young Adam and his friends giggling, thinking they were clever. If he opened his eyes, he knew the light would filter green through the trees' leaves. Suddenly, the garden gave a violent shake. And the former prince opened his eyes to his meagre quarters bathed not in soft green lights but in red, and Klaxons were ringing throughout the ship. 

He _was_ floating, though. Which, even with his bare-bones space training, he knew to be a troubling sign. 

Aziraphale sighed. Apparently, learning his fiance was a child murderer, and taking his young pupil hitchhiking with a pair of criminal types were regrettably not, in fact, fever dreams. And he was currently in the cramped quarters of a starship. A starship without its artificial gravity, at that (presumably shot out, if the alarms were to be believed). 

He moved away from the bed he was hovering over and floated expertly towards the emergency handles that sprang out in emergencies like this. 

It was a little known secret In Elysium that Aziraphale had much-enjoyed anti-grav games as a fledgeling. There was just something so freeing about weightlessness, something equalising. 

He had fond memories of learning _Tanta Lilta_ , a traditional dance form done in zero gravity at the Royal Academy. So it was with practised ease that Aziraphale managed to float his way towards the cockpit. 

The red emergency lights illuminated a tiny form sitting in the pilot’s seat. It was the boy he had met yesterday. Warlock. He appeared to be piloting the ship. Crowley, the puckish captain that had rescued them, was nowhere to be found. 

“Um, excuse me, dear boy, but do you happen to know where Crowley is?”

Warlock pointed to the view monitor where a sleek black hybrid speeder was locked in combat with a pair of fighter crafts. 

“The captain prefers a direct approach to these things.”

But then who was piloting the ship? Surely not… “You can’t be flying!” 

Warlock growled and ripped the hat he’d been wearing off his head. And ran a hand through his hair. And for the first time, Aziraphale saw his ears, a pair of fuzzy black triangles on the top of his head that were slicked back in irritation. It took nearly all of Aziraphale’s willpower to prevent his twitching fingers from reaching over to touch them.

“Not with you squeaking in my ear, I can’t.” He turned to face Aziraphale, and his blue eyes had vertical pupils like the captain. Something he’d failed to notice the excitement the night before. 

“But you’re just a- a-” 

“A what? A Null?” the boy snarled.

“A child. You should be sneaking into gardens to play tag! Not flying large freighters into death matches!” 

“Well, this _child_ is the best pilot in the seven systems. So I suggest you get used to it and help me man the cannons, _prince._ ”

Aziraphale sighed. The boy was right. There were three priorities in a dog fight involving a vessel as large as this. Take out the comms, so they can’t report their location, take out artificial gravity to disorient the crew, and then go for life support, so they slowly suffocate. 

Crowley’s Hybrid speeder was built for speed rather than firepower, and it showed. His slick, slim speeder was running circles around the two lumbering tanks. He was clearly trying for a war of attrition approach, letting them wear down their cannons and go for the kill when they were out of juice. A bold plan but risky if they decide to focus their efforts on the larger target of the freighter instead. 

With two of three out, they wouldn’t have much time. Aziraphale would have to save his concerns for later. 

The cannon chair was occupied by Adam who was shooting in a wild and unpracticed manner. He was having fun if the giggling was anything to go by. Aziraphale growled in exasperation and plucked the child out of his seat. 

Aziraphale felt a brief moment of hesitation as he adjusted the controls. He had played holo games as a child, of course, and done simulations in the academy, but this would be different. There would be no smiling princes leaving the sim at the end, no claps on his shoulder, no _good game, Zira!_ These were actual lives and best-case scenario, two of them would be ended.

He would have thought such a thing would cause his hands to tremble. Instead, they were perfectly steady. 

  
  


Aziraphale took a deep breath, placed his hands on the triggers, and squeezed. 

The two enemy speeders were small enough that there was no need to take out their comms. There was no artificial gravity so rather than delay the inevitable he fired at the closer speeder engine, which caused it to explode into brilliant colours. 

He shuddered as he felt the pilot -snuffed out of existence.

The other fled into warp rather than stick around to avenge his partner. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back into the chair. It was over. They were safe for now.

☆彡

Not long after, the cockpit doors opened with a hydraulic hiss and Crowley- still in his flight suit- sauntered in. 

Long gloved fingers reached for the release at his collar and he removed his helmet to reveal bed hair that reminded Aziraphael of spending ages in front of the mirror as an adolescent trying and failing to train his hair into such a look. 

Crowley gave the crew a crooked grin. “Morning all!” He chirped, walking into the room. 

“Two dukes of Tartarus! Before breakfast even!” he whined dramatically1. “What did I do to deserve such treatment?”

“Well don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure with you deciding not to turn in our hitchhikers.” Warlock snarked loudly, “but the old one did manage to shoot the fighter craft and kill him in one hit! So, I guess he’s not completely worthless after all!”

Aziraphale was starting to feel a little pale and shaky, so Crowley offered a hand to help him out of the chair. The ex-Prince accepted it gratefully. Crowley perhaps pulled with a little too much force because now Aziraphale found himself flush against him. 

“That was _You_? Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” The captain’s prolonged eye contact and strange smile (were it not for the deadly sharp looking fangs, he would have called it soft) was starting to make him feel squiggly inside. 

“I’m a tad out of practice, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said nervously, “That other pilot got away after all.” 

“Come on Angel Face, don’t be so hard on yourself. That was a good shot! Celebrate it. Besides, if I know Hastur, he’ll be back for a rematch.”

Hastur. The name of the pilot he didn’t kill. Aziraphale didn’t know if he wanted to see the name of the pilot he did finish. _Oh, Goddess, he’d killed someone. He felt their Thread sever!_

Mentally, he sent a quick prayer that the poor soul made a speedy return to Her arms and that She would give them a happier, more peaceful life when She remade them and filed away the knowledge of what they did for future consideration. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” He said, eventually. 

“I am very sure!” Crowley interrupted. 

“Hey if you two are done making eyes at each other, I think we should start thinking about breakfast!” yelled Warlock, causing Adam to giggle next to him.

Crowley leapt backwards as if burned. “Right, well! What do you all say to some crepes?” 

He offered Aziraphale his elbow. “Come along, Highness, allow me to escort you to the galley.”

Behind them, Warlock gave a disgusted groan. 

★彡 

Breakfast was Savory Crepes with stir-fried Zephyrian Beetles2, and an assortment of microgreens from the overhead miniature hydroponics bay the captain hid in the galley. Warlock was a smidge disappointed that they were meat crepes and not the sweet kind with glazed fruit, but he still dug into it with the voraciousness of an adolescent on the cusp of a growth spurt. 

Adam took a nervous first bite before eating with equal vigour (because he was irritatingly perfect like that). 

But Aziraphale, the royal ponce, seemed just to be moving the food around on his plate and wanly picking at the greens. Probably thought too good for Spacer food, Warlock sneered.

“What’s wrong?” the Captain asked, “is it the savoury? I have pomegranate jam from a trip to Persephone, and some powdered sugar if you would rather have that.” Warlock rolled his eyes. Oh, sure. _He_ gets a sweet crepe. 

“Oh, no. It’s not that,” the prince said. “It’s just that, well, Gabriel insisted I go on a diet for the wedding. He said it wouldn’t do for his bride to look like a star whale in the wedding holos.”

The captain’s eyes flashed. He looked almost angry for a second before his face smoothed into a smile. “Well, that’s funny.” he stabbed the crepe with his fork, “I don’t see Gabriel at this table.” he held the food to Aziraphale’s lips, “Now open up. I can make little spaceship noises if I have to.” Aziraphale swallowed obediently. His eyes looked very large, very blue, and weirdly enough very shiny. The captain hadn’t looked away once. 

Warlock groaned. He’d seen this before. The captain would find some new pet, coo over them, and said pet would go on their way, and then the Captain would be miserable and spend several standard days in his quarters. Again And again. Same vicious bloody cycle. Only usually they didn’t live with them. 

Great. The awkwardness was going to kill them all.

  
  


★彡

As luck would have it, the nearest port was on a world called Perault. 

Perault was a carbon planet so close to its sun that the heat and pressure had turned it to diamond. It wasn’t the only diamond world out there, but it _was_ the only diamond world that had been cut and polished and given level 3 terraforming. 

Why? A person might ask. For a luxury resort for the richest most powerful elite in the known systems. The resort’s whole gimmick was that everything was made from diamond (Apparently the hard colourless stone was precious on the humans’ fabled homeworld.) 

And Crowley just so happened to have a few acquaintances among the hospitality staff, one of whom just so happened to know someone who worked the staff receiving bay. And it was a good thing too, because the Bentley looked a mess. That last fight had been short but Hastur had gotten a few lucky shots in. Crowley’s baby girl was in desperate need of some TLC. 

The receiving bay had a mechanic who specialized in repairs like this in case their cargo freighters were attacked by pirates. He just hoped the specialist would be open to a little side work. 

★彡

Crowley baulked at the figure the mechanic had given him. She was a short woman with a bit of pudge and vibrant purple hair in a tight bun that offset her green skin quite nicely. Her words had an upper-class New Venusian accent. Under different circumstances, Crowley would have found her quite charming3. But even if he didn’t have the most charming creature in the universe behind him, that many zeros would have killed even his most romantic inclinations. 

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the best I can do. I’ve never even seen one of these in person before. I’m gonna have to call in a favour with a friend of mine who’s a specialist collector. For a lot of these parts. And that’s without the cost of shipping and labour. Where’d you even find one of these anyway?” 

Crowley made an unintelligible sound that meant something along the lines of, “I just happened to find her in pieces in an abandoned junkyard on my dying husk of a planet and spent my whole childhood trying to fix her up so I could get away from that hellhole,” and then gave a vague, “around.”

“Well you know, you’ve taken really good care of her. I know a few museums who would _murder_ for her. If you can’t afford to fix her that is.” 

Crowley tamped down the urge to curse her for merely suggesting he part with his baby. 

“Don’t worry,” he forced himself to smile. “I’ll have the money.” 

The mechanic shrugged and walked into the back room and started calling to her colleagues to gawk at his precious girl. 

He walked away from the hangar. 

It would put him upside down for the next three quarters, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly be a smuggler without a ship.

He looked around to gather the rest of the crew when his eyes rested on Aziraphale who was holding his brooch pensively. The brooch King Gabriel had given him as an engagement gift. For their royal wedding. Wedding. Royal. Like the guests at this diamond abomination. 

“Light bulb!” He said softly to himself. 

Aziraphale made a sort of squeak as he dragged him off. He had a plan. 

☆彡

“Stop fidgeting.” Crowley hissed, “You’re supposed to be a prince! Remember?”

“I _am_ a prince,” Aziraphale said lamely. He resisted the urge to look into the multifaceted mirror behind him. He’d tried it earlier, but Crowley had gently turned him away and told him, “don’t look yet.”

He had been contemplating the worth of his brooch; he’d found himself strangely reluctant to let go of any parts of home, even bad parts. Even the parts he’d packed expressly for pawning. And then Crowley had dragged him off to an opulent (see: gauche) lavatory and started dressing him aggressively, while rapidly (almost incoherently) explaining a plan while trying to pull a silken tunic over his head. 

The clothes Crowley had dressed him in were white and sheer. The golden collar was gleaned from scraps from around the _Bentley_ but now glamoured to look like Sand Drake scales4.Perhaps a bit much for Prince Aziraphale, but perfectly in character for Prince Azeher of Oro5. 

Crowley weaved his Coronet into his hair (the only thing that was actually his). His hands were gentle now that he was starting to calm down. “So this should be an easy role for you. I need you so I can look like I belong getting close to these rich sheep. But also be willfully ignored so I can rob them blind.”

“Alright, so how does my being a prince help you with that?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley took a step back to show off his own glamoured clothes (a lightweight red tunic with a black sash) and answered, “because, your highness, I will be your humble valet.” As if to punctuate this sentence, he pulled a lacy white parasol and held it daintily over Aziraphale’s head. “No one ever notices the help.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to laugh at his antics. 

“So all you have to do is pretend you’re here spoiling your nephews, and,” he said, lowering voice to a low sultry tone, “Having a torrid affair with your prettiest servant on the side.” He clicked his tongue and even threw in a wink—the cheeky bastard.

“Oh wait, let's fix your face!” before Aziraphale could comprehend what Crowley meant by that, he’d pulled out a cosmetic kit and began to work. Crowley scrubbed, sponged, and brushed across Aziraphale’s face while whistling a jaunty little tune. 

Aziraphale had applied make-up on himself before. He had even had others apply makeup on him. Back home, it had been customary for one’s significant other to assist with such a thing, but Gabriel was always too busy, So, he would usually just hire a team. The few times he did do it, it felt a little rough like he could feel the frustration in his grip. Gabriel was no artist, sure, but Aziraphale didn’t see why he had to get so worked up over it. Plenty of sweet romantic older couples had stories about how ridiculous their partners looked until they got the hang of it. 

In any event, it had never felt like this before. With Crowley, there was this sort of electricity in his touch. Aziraphale wanted to close his eyes and lean into his touch. So, of course, he absolutely did not do _that._ But keeping his eyes open may have been so much worse. He found himself pinned by the laser focus of his serpentine eyes (his usually ever-present goggles were pulled up to the top of his head). Like he was a master artist and Aziraphale his magnum opus. Said artist started smudging something sweet and sticky across his lips, and Aziraphale felt his knees buckle. A weak little “ _guh.”_ escaped his mouth. 

And just like that, Crowley was jumping away as if burned. “ _Anyway!”_ He said, pulling him in front of the mirror, “what do you think?”

He looked … _pretty_. Like something out of a holo. All soft curves, luminous, and unreal. “I.. I look like a fairytale prince.” He said softly. 

Aziraphale picked up the kit, “Should I…”

Crowley lowered his goggles. “Best not. Oran servants dress their masters. Not the other way around.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale tried not to look disappointed. 

“Better go grab the kids so we can do them next.” 

“Yes, of course.” And just like that, the electricity was gone.

☆彡

The blue-skinned concierge at the front desk, Lorelai, at first glance appeared to be doing some sort of meditation. Their hands were pressed together and they were taking deep slow breaths. Their antennae twitched and perked up as the prince and his admittedly small entourage. 

He looked nervous for just a moment and then spoke in a posh outer world accent. “Ahem, I booked a suite in your ‘Hope Castle’?” He seemed to cringe at the name; Lorelai smiled. They thought the name was silly too. 

“Sure, can I have your name?” They opened the search bar in the reservations app of their tablet.”

“It’s Azeher. Prince Azeher of Oro.” 

Lorelai searched dutifully, but no results came up. “Sorry, I'm not finding anything,” 

The prince puffed up like a Tetraodontian. ”What do you mean you can't find anything?!” He squeaked. ”I am the heir to the Oran Empire! Don't tell me you lost my records! If you gave my accommodations away, I shall be very cross! Where is your manager?!”

They called her supervisor over. 

Newt was a nervous man of Terran descent. Lorelai always felt a stab of pity whenever he was called over to deal with these posh types. They liked to eat him alive. 

He took the device from their hands, and Lorelai felt a stab of fear in their heart.

It wasn't that they didn't like Newt, they’d grown up in the Staff District together. It was just, well. Whenever somebody called Newt over to handle technical problems, things tended to… blow up in his face.

Right on cue, the tablet started smoking before combusting in an impressive fireball.

Prince Azeher jumped back, shielding the children who seemed to find the whole thing cool (at least they were enjoying this shit show.) “What is the meaning of this?!” His voice was little more than a squeak. “I demand to see the proprietor of this establishment, right away!”

”I'm so sorry, sir! Let me fix this!” Newt stammered. 

”I think you have done quite enough.” the prince snarled. ”And you will address me as ’your Highness’ if you please.”

”Yes, sir! I mean - yes, your Highness.”

The elevator opened, and two Terran women stepped out. Lorelai resisted the urge to scream. Things had just gone from bad to worse. 

Caren White was the resort CEO. Her blond hair fell in shiny waves in a bob cut that playfully contrasted with her sober business suit. Next to her was another blonde Terran woman in a charcoal pantsuit. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun. 

Loralai recognized her as Juli, the head jeweller. Which - admittedly on a planet made of diamond- made her tantamount to a head architect. 

Caren saw the smokey hullabaloo and stormed over to them. Lorelai cursed colourfully. 

“What is going on here?!” Caren demanded. 

Prince Azeher puffed up again. “I am simply trying to check in but these two blew up the tablet.” 

Caren went to grab the emergency tablet. “Name?” 

“Prince Azeher of Oro.” He said imperiously.

“Oro, huh? I’m relieved to hear you escaped the uprising alive.” 

“Yes, well,” the prince started twisting the ring on his pinky. His servant behind him winced6. 

“Yes, well, I would never have managed it without my trusted valet Anthony. We came here to your fine establishment to regroup and plan our next steps when there was an attempt on my life! Why, I've never had such a poor reception in my life!”

Juli, who up till this point had been quietly staring at the prince, whispered something in Caren’s ear. 

Caren smiled. “Found you! Four for the penthouse. Under Azeher.” She handed the tablet to Lorelai. “I deeply apologize for the inconvenience. I will be relocating Mr. Pulsifer to a department better suited to his talents.” 

Newt whimpered behind her. 

“See that you do.” Azeher sniffed, “These boys are all that’s left of my family's dynasty. I don’t know what I would do if harm befell them due to a careless accident.” 

She smiled brightly, “Welcome to Perault, your highness.” Then she turned and walked away with Juli at her side.

Lorelai grabbed their guests' luggage and led them to their accommodations. 

Behind them, the Prince and his servant started to converse. 

_“That was cold. I thought you said you weren’t_ that _sort of royalty.”_

_“I’m not. Gabriel_ is. _That was basically him.”_

Perhaps Lorelai should have found the exchange suspect, but given that their break was coming up soon paired with the staggering tip they received, they couldn’t bring themselves to care. 

☆彡★彡

Caren sat in her office with Juli across from her. 

“So let me guess, our new guest isn’t actually a prince?”

Juli smiled. “Oh, he’s a prince alright.” She pulled up a news holo on her tablet. There was a picture of their new guest and a sweet little house on fire.

“You saw that pretty purple brooch he was wearing?”

“Yes?” 

“I designed it and set it. I don’t get a lot of people with the money to commission me, so I remember this one. I was commissioned by King Gabriel himself. The piece was meant to be an engagement gift to some prince. 

“So I don’t know about you but I think he’ll pay us pretty handsomely to find out what his supposedly dead fiance is doing out here.”

Caren stood up to pour them both a glass of Bacchusian wine. “I like the way you think, Juli.”

“We’ll be rich. And the resort will be back on top!”

“The resort, yeah. Say, Juli, what size are you? We look about the same size. Same hair too.” Caren looked strangely like a bird cornering her prey. 

“I guess we’re the same. Why?” 

“I was thinking you Should join me at the welcome Summer7 Gala.”

“Well thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.”

“And I believe it is an Oran tradition to gift a garment to close friends.” Caren smiled like she had told her a particularly funny joke. “We could make it a theme for the Gala!”

Juli smiled a little nervously. “Indeed.” The two women tapped their glasses in a toast.

“To Prince Azeher of Oro,” Caren said. “And the untold fortunes he’ll bring us.”

* * *

  
  


1 He even put the back of his hand on his forehead, the ridiculous creature

2 Originally from the planet Zephyria. Swarms of these pests consumed the early human settlers' crops almost to the point of human extinction on the planet. Until humans did what they do best and added 20cm long beetle to the menu. These days the Zephyrian Beetle industry is a billion Cred industry, due to easy cooking, farming, and storage, they are a popular staple among long haul space crews. They taste vaguely of ham. 

3 He was well aware he had a type, Fuck you very much. 

4 An endangered species on the planet Oro. Due to its beautiful scales, this friendly serpentine creature has been hunted to near extinction. 

5 The name on his new smartcuff.

6 The expression of someone remembering the time they were on Oro distributing incendiary pamphlets to the indiginous people of the planet.

7 Summer was, of course, an arbitrary word with no actual basis for anything in the dark depths of space but Terrans are famous for their love of tradition. 

**Author's Note:**

> awesome art by  
> and [lovelylovelyartist](https://lovelylovelyartist.tumblr.com/post/635502399542427648/good-omens-fanart-inspired-by-the-scifi-au-made) on tumblr  
> and  
> [Azeher ](https://twitter.com/azeher_may?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor) On twitter!


End file.
